


Flag of War

by lxdyclavicula



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dusttale (Undertale), Alternate Universe - Fellswap (Undertale), Alternate Universe - Fellswap Gold (Undertale), Alternate Universe - Horrortale (Undertale), Alternate Universe - Swapfell (Undertale), Alternate Universe - Underfell (Undertale), Alternate Universe - Underswap (Undertale), Harems, I can't believe there's a tag for Gaster being an asshole, Multi, Multiverse, Other, Please don't kill me for misusing the tags, Technically Mob and also Lust, W. D. Gaster Being An Asshole, mafiatale
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:26:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26497111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lxdyclavicula/pseuds/lxdyclavicula
Summary: A year ago, incumbent Don Kingfisher Clarendon's dust was left at the front step of Dee Clarendon's home. After a year spent in the countryside with their bereaved aunt, Dee has been called back into the family business. The business in question? An arranged marriage to secure the Clarendon's fortunes. The only options available? One of 5 immortal Aster dons, detached and deadly men tangled between the present and the past.
Relationships: W. D. Gaster/Original Character(s)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 8





	Flag of War

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wannabuyahotcat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wannabuyahotcat/gifts).



The breakfast bell didn’t ring, so by the time Dee got up, it was around midday.

The golden sunlight of high noon trickled in through their curtains. Dee made their bed and stretched, listening to the rustle of wind through the grass.

The first alarm went off in their mind.

Midday at their aunt’s cottage was usually the liveliest time of day, their aunt Robin cranking up her antique radio or records as dishes clattered and pots steamed. Robin’s singing voice usually drowned out all but a truck horn.

They carefully slipped out of their nightclothes, opening each drawer as slowly as possible. Each piece of clothing was taken out in silence, their most comfortable shoes slipping onto their feet.

They crossed the floors down the hall. No music, no oil searing in the pans, no kettle whistling. Nothing but Dee’s soul pounding in their chest.

Dee reached into the porcelain vase on the green stand between the two doors to the left. Their hands silently closed around the 629 inside. The ammo was strapped to their garter. The closer they got, the more the gun shook in their hands.

Dee carefully listened by the edge of the kitchen door.

“Dee?”

Oh, thank God.

“Dee, are you skulking in the hall again? N-no one’s coming. We’re still protected out here, for now.”

For now?

Dee entered the kitchen, their ribs and chest loosening with relief.

“Mx. Dee! You know the rule! No firearms in the kitchen.” Their aunt’s reprimand wavered a little.

“Right! Right. Sorry, I didn’t hear anything for a while, and I was---”

“…. I know, I know. Still. Put it away and let’s work on lunch together. Put that bear pistol away and get to chopping these veggies.”

Dee carefully returned it to where it was, before washing their hands and following directions. Out of the corner of their eye, they saw their aunt slip a purple envelope into a drawer.

Their magic froze in their body.

“…. Auntie Robin.”

Their aunt stiffened, her knife hovering over a tomato. “...Yes?”

“…. When did the protective order expire?”

Robin’s shoulders dropped. Talk of the family aged her a hundred years.

“…. Last month. I knew I shouldn’t have waited, that we should have taken it back to court right away, but… I was hoping to wait. Gather strength. Find a good time to tell you.”

Dee gently touched their aunt’s back. “You wouldn’t have needed to go in with me. I can handle myself. Giving me a roof with no strings attached is more than enough.”

Robin stabbed her knife into the cutting board. “No, it’s not! I’m older! I sh-… should be able to do more…”

“Auntie, you wanted to get away from that life. There’s nothing I could want from you that would get in the way of your peace and quiet.”

“That’s just the problem….” Their aunt shook her head.

Dee opened the drawer. There was an incision in the side of the envelope.

“Already opened it, huh? It could have been poisoned or cursed, Auntie.”

The older skeleton rolled her eyes at her niece.

“… What level of bumpkin do you think I----- listen here, tyke,” Robin chuckled, the city accent weaseling its way back into her voice. “Your street smarts are a drop in the ocean of what I know. I know how to open a poisoned letter.”

Dee nodded. “You’re right. I need to stop talking down to you. I’m so used to that Sound of Music act you put on that I forget what a sharp old bird you are.”

Robin sighed. “It’s not an act… it’s an aspiration. Just read the damn thing.”

Dee washed their hands, then settled in at the table. Their mother’s dusty violet perfume wafted from the envelope, a black wax seal on the front featuring a hawk and a dove, each with a foot on the others’ neck.

They shivered and unceremoniously shook the letter out of the side. Their mother’s nauseous, perfect cursive threatened to slither from the paper.

_Daughter,_

_As your aunt may have noticed from her shrinking monthly checks,_

_The family’s fortunes have hit a bit of a downturn recently. Since Kingfisher’s passing, we have been unable to find someone to manage the family finances, and it was only a matter of time before your father bit off more than we could chew._ _This should come as no surprise, really._

 _Fisher is no longer here to carry the family name to glory. He is also no longer here to protect you from doing what has been your duty since the day you were born. The family has no interest in passing the title of Don down to any of the remaining candidates. It is time for you to stop playing Little House On the Prairie with that crippled recluse of a woman and grow up._ _At least I knew she would be too slovenly and pathetic to get you to the city to renew the Royal Council’s no-contact orders, so, since I know you’re reading this too, Robin, I thank you for that._

_Three days from the sending of this letter, you are expected at Tiff’s Menagerie, in the War Room at 5 PM. You could have received more advanced notice if you had not chosen to disrespect me and throw the mobile phone that I purchased for you in the trash._

_Dress your status, and please bring a proper gun instead of that ridiculous, unwieldy hunk of garbage you insist on carrying around. Heirlooms should remain in the home, not strapped to your holster. That pistol failed King at the most crucial moment of his life; why you insist on it as your signature is beyond me._

_You owe your father and I a great debt. We brought you into this world, gave you the finest education our money could buy, and you responded by running off into the woods. This, too, we abided. The time to reimburse us is now. Your lack of attendance will be taken to mean that your aunt no longer needs our financial assistance or physical protection._

_Your mother,_

_Magpie Clarendon._

“… What kind of tea are we having?”

“Orange pekoe,” Robin responded. “Want a shot of rum in it?”

“Gods bless you, Auntie.”

Robin sighed, laying lunch out for both of them. Fresh salad and french onion soup, with old buttered bread on the side. The tea came after.

They ate in relative silence, Robin getting up to put an old jazz record on. It crackled quietly while they ate.

The kettle whistled after they were both done. Robin poured the shots and came back.

“… What are you going to do?”

“Schedule a train for 2,” Dee responded.

Robin sighed. “That doesn’t leave us much time at all.”

A teary shiver shook through the older woman.

“To survival?” She tried to smile, holding her teacup up.

“To more than that,” Dee smiled back, and they clinked their cups. _To the truth_ , they thought.

* * *

“Is that everything? I’m gonna check it over one more time, tyke.”

It was strange hearing Robin talk like that, considering how hard she worked to push that voice, that demeanor down. As horrid a woman as Dee’s mother was, she was right about one thing. Robin’s Julie Andrews character around the cottage was just that- a character. And though it’d been comforting for both of them, it had outlived its usefulness.

Robin rifled through the suitcase once more, before slamming it shut and tossing Dee a padlock. Dee set the combination to their magic, and the lock clicked shut.

“… let’s hit the range, Dee.”

“The train leaves in an hour.”

Robin gave them a dangerous look.

The two walked a zigzag path, until the heads of the dummies slowly peeked out of the tall prairie grass.

Robin lifted up her long skirts, pulling a long-barreled revolver from a garter.

“No firearms in the kitchen, my ass,” Dee snickered.

Robin shrugged. “All bets are off, now.”

Dee stared at the gun for some time, but they couldn’t pin down a model.

“It’s a custom, if you’re wondering. Long, long barrel, body’s set up to fire with the middle finger. I got it after Fisher died, but I couldn’t bear to look at it for quite some time… none of that matters now.”

There was an etching of a bear skull on the handle.

Dee fired. Missed.

She lit an incense cigarette and slipped it into her mouth, then fired again. Miss, but less bad.

“All my hangups, all my denial, all my worries about LV and EXP… do you understand how insignificant that is now, Dee?”

The next shot was closer.

Dee just watched. They watched a master at work, rusty though she was.

“My son is dead, Dee, and everyone else left in our rotten little family tree might as well be. You’re the only one left. Your survival is the only thing in my mind. Pull your gun out. Start firing.”

Dee loaded and fired.

Missed.

“What the fuck was that? Your next one better be right, or you’re not going anywhere but the dustbin.”

Missed.

Robin held her gun to their head.

“Do it. Right. I can’t. Lose you.”

Dee swung their arm back, knocking the gun from Robin’s hand clean. She chuckled. “Well, that’s something. Didn’t know if you were still alive in there. Here, let me fix your grip.”

The next shot hit the dummy’s head.

“That’s the way!” Robin exclaimed, before checking her pocket watch. “We’re about out of time… put that away.”

Dee put their gun away. Their aunt scooped them up into a hug, squeezing so, so tightly. Dee always forgot how strong the old woman was.

Robin kissed them on the cheek.

“… You live. You get out there and live. You find out what you wanna do, and what you gotta do to get it done,” Robin held them closer still, before lowering her voice.

“… And if it means shooting those birds out of their nest… I told you, you’re the only one left to mourn in the first place.”

Dee swallowed, nodding.

The last time they laid eyes on that town was seared into their eyes: the train’s whistle howled and groaned, blowing its first gust of steam like a boar breathing out of its nostrils. Their aunt stood at the platform, her face stern, refusing to let the tears at the edge of her sockets fall. She reached into her purse, only to pull a bright red handkerchief from her pocket, letting it wave in the wind like the flag of war that it was.

Dee snuggled into the stiff window seat, their back turned to the other passengers. They kept their eyes on the scenery. The blue skies gently faded to a burnt, smokey orange, as the grass shortened, withered, disappeared entirely.

Their shoulders trembled with the burden of unwept tears. Each time a sob was about to come out, they swallowed it back up, remembering Robin’s bright red handkerchief waving goodbye.

Hopefully there would be a cabin left by the time they returned. The last time they’d left their aunt unattended, she’d greeted them two fingers short.

“Ebott. Clear out, you fuckin’ beasts!”

Dee gritted their teeth. There always had to be at least one. At least one human who thought it was still acceptable to talk like that.

They switched tickets and shuffled onto the underground trolleys. The next train to the Pink Line would arrive in 5 minutes.

Dee stared at the gravity rail.

All it would take was one step.

The flashing red of their aunt’s handkerchief kept them behind the yellow line, and there was a moment of peace in their mind until the fat fingers of a preacher squeezed their hand.

“Where are you going today, young lady?” He asked lowly.

Dee kept their mouth shut. He would either escalate or back down. Six minutes.

“Do you knooooow where you’re going, young lady?” Escalate it was. Six minutes. Dee kept their eyes on the clock.

“YOU CAN IGNORE ME, YOUNG LADY, BUT YOU CAN’T IGNORE THE ANGEL!” He cried out, emphatically shaking their arm in his hand. “DO YOU NOT SEE YOU’RE WALKING STRAIGHT INTO THE LION’S DEN? RIGHT INTO THE MOUTH OF THE GOAT?”

A lion monster ducked, walking faster.

“A TICKET TO THE PINK LINE IS 2.55, BUT THE TICKET TO YOUR SALVATION IS FREE OF CHARGE! LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, GATHER AROUND! GATHER WHILE I SAVE THE TENDER SOUL OF THIS SWEET! YOUNG! WOMAN!”

Other Pink ticket holders started shuffling away, thankful for the distraction. It was about as accurate a welcome back to the city as Dee could have hoped for.

“… You’d better check,” Dee mumbled, so that only the preacher could hear.

“CHECK WHAT?”

A low chuckle came from the crowd of other Pink ticket-holders.

“You’re new in town, aren’t you father? Well, I’m not. You’d do well to pick your marks, er, your angels more carefully. Get a good, good feel of my hand.”

The preacher blinked in confusion, before squinting. His fingers felt the face on their index ring, before he yanked them back like they’d touched a hot stove.

“I’m not gonna hurt you. But someone else might. Good day, sir,” they grinned, ruffling his thinning hair.

The trolley arrived. They slipped the ring in question back into their hidden sleeve pocket. Having it too visible was as gratuitous as it was uncomfortable.

The trolley rattled through the old Underground. Dee didn’t know a thing about it, only that anyone who was still living down here didn’t want to be found, and they probably sure as shit didn’t want trains running through it. They’d grown up in a glen, an extradimensional pocket out of thousands where monsters who didn’t want to fight in the old war or be rounded up tucked themselves away from millennia, before getting the all-clear to come out. Most of them didn’t.

* * *

Everyone in the car was in varying states of dress and sobriety. Dee scanned the car for enemies, but didn’t let their eyes linger on any particular person too much. Their eyes wandered out to the cars behind them, then the track beyond.

Was there a fucking person on the track?! Dee’s eyes widened, no time to scream before the trolley passed right through them. Had they dissipated? Or did they just dust on impact? It would be too dangerous to lean over the front of the cart and check… they just clutched the safety rail, trying to hide how sick they were about to be if they didn’t get to their destination soon.

The trolley screeched to a stop at 34. Dee wobbled out of the trolley, straightening their hat and walk as they stepped down. The trash cans were designed not to be dug through, or, unfortunately, vomited in. They would have to swallow it down and walk.

Their feet knew where to go. It’d just been a while, and they tried to focus on landmarks, on streets and shops. Landmarks and streets and shops and not the monster that’d been shattered under the trolley they’d been riding, so quickly that they didn’t even see it. Or the dusty violet perfume that their mother used, and the way it lingered on the envelopes she wrote, or the furniture in her preferred rooms in the manor, or how she liked to spray it on Dee’s clothes when they didn’t lock their closet door.

They were so distracted not thinking about it that the tip of their nasal bone rammed right into the glass.

“Easy there, dearie. That’s reinforced glass,” the restaraunt’s namesake tutted from behind the door. A voluptuous spider monster booped their nose. “Clarendon, party of 3?”

A couple of eyes from the main tea tables glanced up.

Dee shrank.

“The War Room is the last on the left, second floor. Is there anything I can start you on?”

Dee took a moment to think.

“A tray of pimento sandwiches, and… a pot of Russian Caravan,” Dee smirked. Their mother would not approve.

“No intention of sharing those, hmm?” It seemed Tiff was already aware of Magpie’s preferences.

“Not a one,” they tried to smile. They already felt out of practice at it.

“It’ll be up when it’s ready. Off you go, darling.” She patted Dee’s ass as they passed. How she found it so precisely under Dee’s giant zoot suit jacket was beyond them. They cleared their throat a little as they headed up the steps. The stairs creaked, and the door whined with protest as they entered.

Their mother was settled into a chaise lounge, raven feathers in her dark grey hat. The older skeleton woman’s eyes traveled from Dee’s fedora to their skirt and heels.

“… I see we still disagree on what ‘dressing your status’ means. Still walking about like a hodgepodge embarrassment?”

Dee’s soul pounded harshly in their chest, as terror and outrage fought for dominance.

“Funny. I’m not embarrassed.” Outrage won.

“Sit. Down,” their mother hissed.

“I’m in no hurry to get comfortable,” Dee’s eyes stayed locked on their mother’s. “And neither is Hawk, I see.”

“Your father will arrive when he sees fit. When you demonstrate that you are worth his time,” Magpie warned.

“Just say you’re hurt he’s decided you’re not worth his either. Nothing more embarrassing than watching you try to lick your wounds, in my opinion,” Dee retorted, sitting down on the couch across from Magpie as slowly as possible.

“You’re a horrid little creature. We should have named you Shrike,” their mother spat, but not really. Magpie Clarendon would never spit.

Dee took a longer look around the room, as their mother blew smoke out of her long, long cigarette. According to one of Hawk’s inebriated rants, the War Room had been where one of the Clarendon ancestors had met with the ancient Kings, to deliberate whether monsterkind would continue to allow the humans’ aggressions on their towns. Their father always chuckled, twisting cigar smoke into a spiral as he talked. “Gull Clarendon made the smart move! Give the humans what they think they want. Slip past the curtains where they can’t go, and come back later when we’ve got money and magic they like. That’s the way, little Chickadee… that’s the way.” Dee hated that story.

A hand lifted the hat off Dee’s head, and a rough skeletal hand ruffled their skull. “Good to see you’re punctual now,” Hawk Clarendon chuckled in his infuriating radio voice.

“And you’ve only grown less and less respectful of my time,” Magpie hissed.

“I’m not sure what there is to respect. What is it that you do again? Sit in your apartment collecting antiques? Getting your nails done? Getting done by that dy---”

“Mind your tongue, Hawk!” Magpie sharply stomped her heel into the ground. Dee pushed the memories of what accompanied that sound as far down as they would go… wait.

“You’re not living together? When did that happen?”

Dee’s parents went quiet, faces twisted in unique expressions of displeasure.

“Forget that, Dee. Let’s talk about why we’re actually here,” Hawk said with a forced half-grin. That forced half-grin he used when he negotiated liquor shipments with humans. The half-grin he used when he was about to royally fuck somebody, but he wanted them to feel like he still liked them. Like it was just business.

“Got someone you like, Dee?” Hawk asked from behind his cup of coffee.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Hawk! You’re not firm enough with her. You never were! You’re getting married, Dee.”

The respect Dee had for the teacup was the only thing that stopped it from crashing out of their hands.

“… what do you mean.”

“I mean exactly what I said. I always mean what I say. I don’t know why you insist on questioning me when I’ve never gone back on a word I’ve spoken,” Magpie smirked.

“I can think of a couple. How about ‘in sickness and in health’?” Hawk scoffed. Magpie’s furious grey eyes pierced his dark red ones. They held that stare for an uncomfortably long time.

Dee used that time to recover, to stomp out the smoke of fear and relight the anger that protected them, let them stand up for themselves.

“What if I told you to eat shit?”

Magpie’s fury almost scared the last word out of their mouth.

Then she did something worse. She laughed.

Her mother laughed, a little snort, then a ladylike flutter of laughter, until the first caw left her mouth, until the old skeleton was almost wheezing with mockery. Their father just watched, seething. Almost more angry at their mother’s happiness than their disobedience.

“Do you think you’re something, Dee Clarendon? Because you carry that big bear pistol strapped to your thigh like some kind of country harlot?”

Dee was frozen in place. Not by choice. By their mother’s gravity magic, pressing them into their seat.

“Because you wear that overshouldered suit on your back? To hide your dainty little shoulders? Because you think that clothing and big talk can cover how pathetic you are? Ahahahahahahaha!”

She took a deep breath, steadying herself with a sip of tea.

“You were made to carry a legacy, and if your flighty little body can’t bear its weight, then I’ll crush you myself and do it again.”

Hawk said nothing.

“… The night after Kingfisher was murdered, your precious little aunt showed up with her two favorite long-barrels. Right up to our house, uninvited. She said she was going to put an end to our treacherous legacy forever. That the Clarendons would bear no more children, participate in no more schemes. As if she had any right to say that, after teaching Fisher to shoot and fight and kill in our name.”

Dee’s soul shivered and struggled in their chest, struggling to escape their body.

“… As if it was my fault that her heir didn’t make the cut. We could have worked together, you know. Made you into something even better to replace him,” their mother sighed, her expression unreadable. “Instead Robin decided, after ten levels of violence and gallons of blood on her hands, that it was her responsibility to wipe our ‘wicked deeds’ off the face of the earth. How would you say she’s shooting now, Dee?”

Dee wanted to vomit, to keel forward and spray food and magic from their mouth until there was nothing left inside of them, but their mother’s magic bent their ribs, one by one. A warning. Stay still.

“I doubt she’s gotten much practice with that custom she commissioned. She’s probably wasted the year, coddling you and making you feel like you were free of your responsibility. I wouldn’t bet on her landing a shot like last time again.”

Magpie’s hat was tilted to her right. It had been tilted to the left as long as Dee had been alive. She pulled a dark purple folder from her briefcase, tossing eight evidence baggies out. Six black and white photos of men Dee had never seen in their life looked up at them.

Hawk chuckled. “You missed a few.”

“I have no interest in setting her up with Constantia, and the Ghost Don isn’t real, Hawk. Even if he was, he wouldn’t have a penny to his name. No penny passes through this town without me being informed.”

“Of course, that’s all you’d care about.”

Magpie snorted. Even Dee had to agree that hadn’t warranted a response.

“The Asters own this part of town. You’re to get engaged by one year from today, to one of them. I have ordered them numerically, in terms of advantage. If there is an Aster not listed, you are to consider them nonviable. So don’t waste time with their children, or any Asters outside of this district. The Pink line is where the Clarendons will live until the day it burns to the ground.”

Dee watched their mother close their loopholes, one by one.

“You are to preserve your virginity until your wedding night, as a gift of goodwill between the families. You will not be playing second fiddle to any woman. If you have not secured a ring on your finger, you have no right to give away what’s not yours. These men like their prey fresh, so if you let yourself get used, they’ll just throw you away. All men will.”

Magpie then pushed a small, stapled yellow folder across the table. “Real estate listings. We will be furnishing your expenses.”

Dee managed to shake their head. “I know that’s just code for ‘we will have keys to your residence’. I’ll sort myself out.”

Magpie scowled. “You would say something like that. In that case, Lilian Helvetica tends to mind her own business as long as you pay her on time. It should be a place that even you could afford without living in complete squalor. You can locate her information yourself, if you think you know the city as well as I do.”

Dee nodded.

“I’m out of suppressants,” they muttered, after a while.

“You may send me your new address, and the suppressants will arrive once a month in packs of thirty. It should be enough. If you insist on working a job, find a secretarial position with the families I’ve listed. You are not to get work outside of this district. That is a strict rule.” Something wavered in their mother’s voice when she said that.

Dee nodded.

“Do you have any other questions?” Hawk asked, chiming in for the first time in a while. They took a moment to think on it, coming up with nothing.

“I’m assuming you’ll want your own mobile device as well, since you’re feeling independent. I can… concede that. We expect to hear from you once a week. We will refrain from texting or calling you unless it is an absolute emergency.”

“I’ll fucking block you if you don’t,” Dee shrugged.

Magpie didn’t answer that. The rest of their body was released from her grip. She looked… distant. Old. Worried.

“… Here’s Lilian Serif’s number. If you haven’t gotten a bed to sleep in by tonight, my new address is on the back of the card.”

“What, you think you’re the only one who can offer her a place, Mags?”

“Don’t be disgusting! As if she wants to hear you grunting like a hog as you lay into the latest little---”

“I’ll manage,” Dee choked out. “Goodbye.”

“Don’t forget the briefcase! It’s yours…” Their mother faltered. “I spent a year putting it together.”

Dee picked it up, before begrudgingly bowing out.

* * *

Pearly Heights had an antiquated look to it. The place reeked to Dee of the Gilded Age, gratuitous and pompous, with no true value under the gold-painted doors. There were only three floors and eight apartments in total. The rental office was in the front. The lobby was full of fake flowers, a plastic chandelier lighting the lobby. At least the place was clean. Dee rang the little brass call bell on top of the granite front desk.

“Oh! One moment~”

Another skeleton woman skittered to the front desk, her pencil skirt so tight and heels so high that she could barely walk any other way. Her brassy, golden eyes matched the wig on top of her head.

“Miss Clarendon?” She smiled.

“Mx. Dee Clarendon, please,” Dee corrected through a tight smile.

“Oh! I apologize. I’ll note that down in my little pad. Lilian! Lilian Serif.” The skeleton offered Dee a long-clawed hand. Dee shook on it. “Utilities, magic, electricity, rent, repairs, it’s all bundled in. Your first month has already been covered, so you should have plenty of time to settle in while you hunt for jobs. Don’t worry, don’t worry, I keep my business and personals separate. No one’s getting into your room.”

Dee barely got a word in edgewise before Lilian’s hand ushered them up the elevator. Her touch was gentle. They traveled up to the penthouse.

“I don’t think I can---”

“Don’t worry, don’t worry! The rent is split two ways. You wouldn’t mind the occasional roommate, would you? Don’t worry, he’s never in and he doesn’t talk to anyone.”

The space was decorated in a stuffy, gaudy way, but the kitchen was functional and everything was clean. Everything was spotless, actually. There was a padlock on the room at the end of the hall, but that was the only indication that someone already lived here.

“I gu-guess not…” Dee had really been hoping for privacy, but it was probably for the best that someone be around, at least from time to time. Especially since they’d spent the past year in Robin’s company.

If they had an episode, at least there was a bit of a chance that someone would be close enough to call an ambulance.

“How do you like it? You know what? Go ahead and stay the night. Feel it up for yourself. I’ll let your mother know you made it here safely, but everything else can stay between you and me. Is that fair?” Lilian smiled. Something in her smile made Dee feel warm. At home.

“S-sure.”

“Alrighty, then. Goodnight, Mis--- Sorry! Old woman problems. Mx. Dee. Sleep well!” Lilian clicked and clacked her way out the door.

Dee was alone.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on Twitter (18+): [lxdyclavicula](https://twitter.com/lxdyclavicula)


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